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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565778">Her Cousin Queen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee'>TeamGwenee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beheading, Brienne is Elizabeth the First, F/M, NOT for Sansa fans, Sansa is Mary Queen of Scots, Tudor AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:13:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is Brienne's cousin, and a fellow queen. But the bonds between them is what names her Brienne's greatest threat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Minor Sansa Stark/Harrold Hardyng</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sequel to Golden Age and The Death of Cersei Lannister. Based on the execution of Mary Queen of Scots. Taken from a couple of outtakes from my original draft of Golden Age.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne had sat upon the mahogany cushioned seat for nigh on five years now, and still the chair felt no more comfortable. However, she had achieved a degree of competence in pretending, and she suspected that was the best she could expect. She looked upon her Council members with what Jaime had once dubbed her ‘penetrating stare’, effective in both unnerving her lords and allowing herself a moment’s grace to gather her thoughts and steady her nerves. Face upon face of fake servility and smiles so sickly sweet it was a wonder that the teeth of her lords had not yet rotted to black.  </p><p> </p><p>Closest at hand were her most trusted councillors. Sir Vary, quiet in the din until he was called upon to talk, at which point all other voices could not help but fall silent.  Lord Stormlands, his frank wisdom and blunt manner a relief amongst the unrelenting posturing and flatteries. Mistress Tarly, nervous at being sat amongst such high company. Her presence requested from High Garden to lend her support to Brienne’s cause, the Dowager Queen Margaery was seated in a place of honour, a placid smile upon her still beautiful face. Blessed by the Seven to be innately regal, she was the emblem of feminine virtue and piety. Her slightly greying hair tucked demurely beneath a simple yet becoming wimple, the lines on her face lending her a maturity and gentle wisdom that surpassed her once youthful prettiness. As always, there was a spark in her eye that spoke of secrets unsaid that put Brienne on edge, but she had pledged Brienne her support and in this Brienne was certain of her word. </p><p> </p><p>These allies were treasured to Brienne, but her eyes could not help but stray to the far end of the council room, where the man who had once been her right hand sat sullen and alone but for the presence of his devoted brother. </p><p> </p><p>“My lords,” she addressed the room in a voice that still sounded forced to her own ears, “I wish to begin by addressing the negotiations with Queen Daenerys.” She ignored the groans and side gazes shared amongst her lords, raising her voice a fraction. “And I wish to end the meeting with the matter concluded.” </p><p> </p><p>“Your Grace,” Lord Rosby wheezed, “this is an extremely delicate matter. The Queen Daenerys has shown few qualms in laying claim to your title and has done little to hide her ambitions to steal your throne, and I must say she has proven herself a more effective conqueror than the delicate sex has any right to be. I fail to see how an accord can be reached after merely five meetings.” </p><p> </p><p>“An accord can be reached after merely five meetings because I will have it so,” Brienne said simply. From across the table, the Dowager Queen Margaery’s gentle face was for the slightest moment overcome with a proud smirk. “As you say, Queen Daenerys proves no small threat to our kingdom. The sooner a friendship can be formed between our realms, the better.” She nodded at Sir Varys to produce the agreement they had drawn up. “I have here a treaty, that Queen Daenerys’s ambassador assures me will be found favourable in her Grace’s eyes and be of mutual benefit to both our countries.” </p><p> </p><p>“And what are these miraculous terms your Grace?” Sir Petyr Baelish asked sceptically.  </p><p> </p><p>“We shall aide her Grace in her campaign against the slave trade,” Brienne announced, to an unsurprising outburst of doubts and opinions, each voice clamouring to be louder than the other. After allowing a moment of babble, Brienne rapped her knuckles sharply upon the wooden table  </p><p> </p><p>“First, we shall cease all trade with countries that still practise slavery and instead invest in trading with the lands in which slavery has been abolished.” </p><p> </p><p>“Your Grace!” Sir Petyr protested. “Many of us have been trading with the Masters of Essos for centuries, surely you can see how such a change can impact our people?” </p><p> </p><p>Brienne had particularly expected protest for the wily Baron. Of insignificant birth, he had brought a title he amassed through business deals with the Great Masters of Essos. And in truth, she suspected that being surrounded by so many of greater birth than himself that he; like many others, took comfort in the existence of people of such awesome inferiority that they need not be considered people.  </p><p> </p><p>“Indeed, I do,” Brienne assured them. “However, I have great faith that after a period of adjustment, trade with Queen Daenerys will prove itself fruitful.” </p><p> </p><p>“And what of the people on our lands who will starve and suffer during this period of adjustment?” Lord Estermont demanded.  </p><p> </p><p>“Her Grace has wisely foreseen these problems and has acted accordingly,” Lord Stormlands spoke up, his voice warm and measured.  </p><p> </p><p>Queen Margaery smiled beatifically around the chamber, smoothing out her simple mint green gown. “Highgarden has agreed, at the request of her Grace, to provide livestock and produce to those who find themselves in need as a result of these measures,” she informed the council. “We have discussed the terms and are sure that none need suffer too greatly.” </p><p> </p><p>“That is most fortuitous,” Lord Tyrion called. “Now that we can put the fear of starvation to rest, I am sure we are all in agreement of these measures.” </p><p> </p><p>“Are we?” Sir Petyr scoffed. “As far as I can see, there is still many a drawback to such an agreement.” </p><p> </p><p>“To be sure, some of us may be required to sell some of our gold plate and acquire less sable lined cloaks,” Queen Margaery said sweetly. “But that is a small price to pay for stability to the realm and bringing down the greatest evil in our world.” </p><p> </p><p>And, as with most things Queen Margaery said, none could bring themselves to protest without knowingly looking the fool. Grudging mumbles of agreements and nods rippled through the room. Brienne allowed the murmurs to die, before addressing the next point of order. </p><p> </p><p>“Furthermore, our Navy shall patrol the waters and any slave vessels seeking passage shall be instantly barred from our seas. Any ships suspected of carrying slaves shall be liberated instantly,” Brienne continued, sighing inwardly as another outbreak of protest rose.  </p><p> </p><p>“Your Grace, this a worthy endeavour, but such harsh measures require more time to consider than we are allowed!” Sir Petyr protested. </p><p> </p><p>“What is left to consider?” Jaime demanded, rising to his feet and fixing the old man which had him squirming in his cushioned seat. “Our loyalty is to the queen and the queen has given an order. We are duty bound as her subjects to obey. Slavery is a great evil, and we are in position to deal it a great blow. As men of honour, we are duty bound to take this chance. What else is there to discuss?”  </p><p> </p><p>“Attacking the vessels of the slavers may very well be seen as an act of war!” Lord Estermont insisted. </p><p> </p><p>Jaime and Tyrion rolled their eyes in mutual disdain.  </p><p> </p><p>“Slave vessels are to be barred from our waters. Their presence will be seen as trespass and it is within our right to seize them, not an act of war,” Tyrion pointed out.  <br/><br/></p><p>Jaime stood.</p><p> </p><p>“The Great Masters are already at war with Queen Daenerys and have their hands full defending their lands from her. What little forces they have to spare will easily be overcome, if they are so foolish as to attempt raising arms against us.” He turned to Brienne and dropped to one knee. “Your Grace, I will see to it that no slave ship shall freely cross the Sunset Sea.” </p><p> </p><p>Lord Stormlands rose and fell to his knee also. “And the Narrow Sea also,” Davos vowed.  </p><p> </p><p>One by one, the lords with lands by the sea rose to their feet and bent the knee, repeating Jaime and Davos’s words. </p><p> </p><p>Heart singing at Jaime’s affirmation of loyalty, Brienne addressed the next matter of business with more ease and confidence than she had ever known when cloistered in her council rooms. </p><p> </p><p> “Is there anything else in need of addressing?” she asked Sir Varys. </p><p> </p><p>“One more matter, your Grace, which I believe shall have us all leaving this meeting well pleased,” Sir Varys said. “It seems that relations between Queen Lysa and Queen Sansa have truly been broken beyond repair. Queen Sansa has called off her betrothal to King Robin and is in the midst of preparing for her return North.” </p><p> </p><p>For once, the lords smiled and spoke out in pleasure of this news. They had long been given cause to hope for the alliance between the North and the Vale to be broken, for the cantankerous Queen Lysa had long been at odds with her beautiful niece and prospective daughter in law, and the simmering dislike had burned into hatred after Queen Sansa had been forbidden to attend her mother on the death bed. </p><p> </p><p>Only Sir Petyr Baelish was silent.  </p><p> </p><p>“Gods be praised!” Lord Rosby cried. “We no longer need fear the Vale and the North joining forces against our land.” </p><p> </p><p>Brienne watched indulgently as her lords celebrated, catching Jaime’s glittering eyes and rejoicing in the warmth at the smile sent from his way. Dismissing the rest of the council, she was gratified to see Jaime lingered as she had hoped he would. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, for speaking up for me,” she told him earnestly. </p><p> </p><p>“It was but my duty,” Jaime said modestly. There was still a lingering awkwardness between the two, but Brienne dared to hope it stemmed more from a mutual desire to put their grievances at rest and regain lost ground, than from any residual anger and old wounds. And this news from the North is a great boon.” </p><p> </p><p>“It is indeed,” Brienne agreed. </p><p> </p><p>“But?” Jaime questioned, reading the worry in Brienne’s eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“The poor girl has been driven away from the only home she has ever known, to a land she has been a stranger to since infancy. The Northerners are proud and will not welcome a young girl raised in a southern court gliding in and expecting to rule.” Brienne shook her head ruefully. “And I suspect she has been more trained to be a consort than a queen in her own right, in truth I fear for her.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaime ran a fond hand down Brienne’s arm. “Of course, you do, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. What do you intend to do?” </p><p> </p><p>“Write,” Brienne explained. “Offer advice and extend the hand of friendship. I am not sure if it will be welcome, but it is there if she has need of it. And I do not doubt that in time, she will have plenty of need for friendship. The North is a cold place in more ways than one.” </p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Sansa held back a most unladylike snort as she read Queen Brienne’s kindly meant letter. She had heard all about the Southern Queen, the great, brutish creature who had supplanted her place in the line of succession. If only her mother had not been so weak and refused to meet King Stannis’s commands, Sansa would be in the Red Keep, overlooking tournaments and masquerades and festivals Queen Lysa and her wretched Vale could only dream of.</p><p> </p><p>It rankled Sansa that her cousin from Tarth would think to instruct her, to advise Sansa who had been a Queen since her infancy. She had come North to escape Queen Lysa’s shrewish and controlling behaviour. She had left behind elegance and civilization in favour of her brutish home country with their roughspun ways and coarse manners, for at least it was <em> her </em>country. Whatever this pretender to the South thought, or her crude Northern lords and wretched little sister believed. She knew the Northerners disdained her Southern ways, and her little sister Arya thought her a fool.  Nevertheless, the North was hers and hers alone. And she intended to rule.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa forced herself to suppress her embarrassment and disgrace. She could not imagine what Lord Harry Hardyng; King Harrold  now, would think of Winterfell’s provincial halls. She could see the disdain dripping from his train of courtiers, and the pity in their eyes as they regarded her. They, who had once known her to be the jewel of the Eyrie, now pitied her.</p><p> </p><p>But King Harrold was charm itself as he feasted beside, only a conspiratorial quirk of the eyebrow hinting he had acknowledged the lowliness of Sansa’s estate. Sansa returned it in kind, thankful he shared his amusement with her, understanding how this humdrum Northern life was beneath her. A handsome man, and dashing, he suited his crown well. As grieved as she was by her little cousin’s death, Sansa could not help but think it right and proper that Harry should rule, rather than his sickly cousin.</p><p> </p><p>(Her grief stricken aunt, driven to starving herself in mourning, was mourned less so by the Northern Queen.)</p><p><br/>The newly crowned King of the Vale sat on one side of Sansa, slicing her meat and pouring her wine with a jest ready on his tongue. Arya sat to Sansa’s left, glowering as she glugged down beer. Sansa knew the cause of Arya’s discontent and cared little to cheer the mood of the sister who was all but a stranger to her. How Arya had lectured her on her spending. Sansa had only scoffed. It was an investment, as she calmly explained, a necessity to ensure the North was respected by the Southern realms, and gain an ally in the struggle to come.</p><p> </p><p>Arya had darkened at that and asked why the North was not enough for Sansa, much to Sansa’s ire. Sansa had assured Arya that the North would know wealth and prosperity of giddying heights once Sansa had claimed her throne, and she trusted the loyalty of the Northern people to support her cause and her decision to provide Harry with the men and funds to take the South.</p><p> </p><p>“Beware, sister,” Arya had said. “The North is only as loyal to you as you are loyal to the North, and none of them are fools. They know a cheat when they see one.”</p><p> </p><p>That had angered Sansa greatly, and it was only through drawing on the very depths of her compassion that enabled Sansa to even allow Arya to attend the feast. </p><p> </p><p>The feast and entertainments Sansa had arranged for the visiting King came at a great cost, greater than the Northern could afford in truth. And even then they were paltry things to the beauty of the South. </p><p> </p><p>But it was only temporary. Sansa knew King Harrold had always held a fancy for her, and she knew his ambitions also. She admired her reflection in the polished silver of her goblet. She may be queen of a vile, vulgar kingdom, but she would always comport herself with the elegance and refinement fit for her royal blood. That evening she had dressed in a vibrant gown of red velvet, with a cloth of gold kirtle embroidered all over with seed pearls, and a magnificent ruff of Myrish lace. Around her neck she wore a golden chain and a great necklace of rubies and diamonds, and on her breast she had pinned a brooch of a costly table diamond set in heavy wrought gold and surrounded by yellow sapphires. Her brilliant red hair was unbound and upon her head was a coronet of yellow sapphires and rubies. She shone like a flame against the drab grey stones of Winterfell. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa knew well she was a queen to inspire the souls of men. And she did not doubt that once King Harrold had taken the South in her name, her people would welcome her, their heart’s full of love and their eyes full of admiration. Just like in the songs.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>~</p><p>Two Years Later</p><p> </p><p>In the peace treaties with the North, Sansa Stark had been stripped of her titles and her sister, Arya, had been named queen in her stead. The taxes the Queen-that-was had raised to fund the war with the South had devastated the North, coupled with a poor harvest and a cessation of all trades between the kingdom. A war that was lost within months, obliterated in the face of the Southern forces and their allies from the East. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa had found herself on the wrong side of the borders. So certain was she of her victory that she had accompanied Harry; now her husband, and his armies South, residing with the few Riverllanders who had risen to their cause. When the battle was lost, Harry and his armies in retreat, and the North resentful of her, she was a sitting duck and had been snatched up by the Southern forces and whisked to a tower cell in Dragonstone.</p><p> </p><p>Still, she called herself queen, as she had been anointed in infancy.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne had; on the advice of her courtiers, avoided meeting the disgraced Sansa Stark face to face. How was she to receive her? As an equal or as a subordinate?The North, now Brienne’s ally, had insisted Sansa was no queen and requested Brienne keep her well only out of love for the Starks and their wish not to see their beloved Queen Arya suffer her loss. Still, they also refused to welcome Sansa back, lest she cause any trouble and incite rebellions against their chosen ruler. At their wish, Brienne kept Sansa a prisoner. <br/><br/></p><p>But Brienne could not forget that Sansa had been anointed in the eyes of the Old Gods and the New, and to support the loss of her title was to set a dangerous precedent. </p><p> </p><p>No, there could be no meetings. No discussions, at least not face to face. Brienne had written many a time, always as a beloved cousin, to encourage Sansa to accept her loss, and in turn be given a safe home in which she would know every courtesy and every luxury.</p><p> </p><p>Every luxury but liberty.</p><p> </p><p>But today, there was no choice but to meet.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne prepared for her journey to Dragonstone with a heavy heart. How Brienne loathed that castle, that dreary island prison. How many nights did she wake in a cold sweat, believing herself once more at the mercy of King Stannis, listening for the footsteps of the guard approaching to throw her to the flames.</p><p> </p><p>And now, she was making the nightmare come true for another. Her own kin, and another queen.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa had been caught red handed conspiring to overthrow Brienne. Varys had presented her with the information, and as much as Brienne longed to believe it all false, the evidence was unquestionable. Lord Stormlands himself had backed up Varys’s claims, regretfully so for he pitied the abandoned Northern Queen, foolish as she was. </p><p> </p><p>Sir Petyr Baelish and his fellow conspirators had already been executed. That was easy enough to do, but Brienne had put off signing her own cousin’s warrant. At Queen Arya’s request she waited as the Queen in the North pressured her lords to allow her to bring Sansa back. But they feared retaliation from the Vale should King Harrold’s wife set foot once more in what had once been her kingdom.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa Stark, the pretty young Queen who had learned sewing and singing and dancing at the court of the Vale, who had been raised to know the vanity of the queen and none of the discipline, all the ambition and none of the wisdom, was simply too dangerous to be allowed to live.</p><p> </p><p>But if Brienne was to execute her own cousin, she would tell Sansa face to face. It was the least that was owed to her.</p><p> </p><p>Jaime watched her trembling hands as she gripped the railings of the ship, bound towards Dragonstone. Her knuckles were white and the skin near splitting from the tension. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze.</p><p> </p><p>“You are making the right choice,” he assured her. “Sansa Stark would have killed you without a spare thought if it meant putting herself on the throne, and you are showing her more concern than she deserves through visiting her yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s just a child,” Brienne said mournfully. “A stupid, selfish child, but a child nontheless.”<br/><br/></p><p>“A dangerous child,” Jaime added.</p><p> </p><p>“My kin-”<br/><br/></p><p>“And all the more dangerous for it.” He placed a hand on her arm, warm and steady through the thick cloth of her black woollen cloak. “Do not ask me to think kindly of her, Brienne,” Jaime begged. “Not when she thought to see this land destroyed, and you dead.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>She had wailed like the child she was. She had screamed and sobbed and begged and pleaded. She blamed this lord and that lord, for lying to her, tricking her, leading her astray. She would never truly kill her own cousin. She didn’t want the throne. Just freedom. And who was Brienne to condemn her, how could she commit treason when she was a queen herself? She just wanted to go home. To the Vale and to Winterfell and to her husband and her sister. Her beautiful blue eyes turned as red as her hair, her skin was deathly white and her streaming nose crimson.  </p><p> </p><p>How Brienne longed to comfort her. To take this frightened child in her arms, hold her and stroke her hair and tell her…..</p><p> </p><p>Tell her what? That all would be well, that she didn’t need to fear before merrily packing her off to the executioner’s block.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne had excused herself from the tower cell, almost embarrassed, and left Sansa to the ministrations of the few ladies left to her, and the Septon come to tend to her immortal soul. There was no God’s Wood, Stannis having long burnt them all to the ground. The Old God’s could not reach their lost daughter in her terror.</p><p> </p><p>Out of respect for Sansa’s status, the scaffold was built inside the Great Hall of Dragonstone, away from the crowds of commoners come to see the queen done to death. Draped all in black velvet, the axeman’s sword hidden a pile of hay. </p><p> </p><p>The nobles and dignitaries present were dressed in black, muttering furtively among themselves. Brienne, surrounded by her councillors and Jaime ever by her side, said nothing. Her jaw clenched, she watched for the doors to open and reveal the condemned queen.</p><p> </p><p>For all her weeping, Sansa came to the block with the dignity and grace suited for her station. Ever mindful of appearances, she had foregone black in favour of a dove grey gown trimmed in white silk, and a kirtle of red velvet. The colours suited her blue eyes and red hair well, and spoke of her loyalty to the homeland that had deserted her. As firm in her belief as she ever was that she was a queen, Sansa comported herself with quiet courage, only speaking to give her thanks that her miserable life would soon be at an end and she would that night take her place in the Seven Heavens. She pleaded with the crowds to pray for her soul, and then donning the handkerchief offered by her lady in waiting, knelt upon the straw and waited for the sword to take off her beautiful head.</p><p> </p><p>It was a suitable death for a queen who had always prided herself on her elegance and refinement.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p>“How I hate Dragonstone,” Brienne said as the black castle slowly disappeared from the horizon.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not overly keen of the place myself,” Jaime told Brienne. “Barren, ugly and bitter. It’s like if Stannis was a building.”</p><p> </p><p>“How I feared I would find my death here,” Brienne muttered. “And now I fear I have. Sansa Stark was my death, one way or the other. Either she lived to eventually bring war to my kingdom, or I kill her and become the most wretched of souls.”</p><p> </p><p>Throwing aside respectability, Jaime drew his queen towards him, ignoring the prying eyes of the queen’s ladies watching them.</p><p> </p><p>“Your kingdom needed you to hold firm in your resolve,” Jaime assured her. “Sometimes, going against your own morals for the sake of your people is the most just thing to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just?” Brienne laughed incredulously. “I executed a <em> queen, </em>no subject of my own, for treason. How is that just?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aside from the fact she wanted to kill you?” Jaime asked. “You are the queen, your duty first and foremost is to always think of your kingdom. Of your people. If Sansa Stark were to live she would live only to cause mayhem and disorder to this land. In doing what felt wrong, you did what was right. That it hurt you so greatly to do it only speaks of your morality.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne allowed herself to rest her head on Jaime’s shoulders, in full view of her courtiers.</p><p> </p><p>“You once said to me that the cruelty of the crown claims even the truest of us,” Brienne whispered, recalling the words Jaime had muttered in spite. “Do you believe that to be true?”<br/><br/></p><p>“No,” Jaime said firmly. “To have allowed Sansa to live and cause mayhem to spare your own feelings of guilt, that would be cruel. You took on a burden that would only hurt you, and in doing so spared your people unknown suffering. The years have changed you Brienne, as they have changed us all. But unfaltering is your goodness, and your dedication to your people. That is, and always will be a constant.”<br/><br/></p><p>Brienne took comfort in the love pouring from his warm, emerald green eyes, and for that moment, allowed herself to believe what he said to be true. </p>
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